


A Little Protection Here And There

by H4wkishlyW0lf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Mild Wing!Kink, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Build, wing!kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H4wkishlyW0lf/pseuds/H4wkishlyW0lf
Summary: The reader is disabled and needs some solid protection from a supernatural threat, and the brothers' Winchester and co are just the people to provide it. But what happens when you are made to spend so much time with the angel in a trenchcoat by yourself?





	1. And so it begins

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on my Destiel fic "Accidents Happen" but I'm also pretty head over heels for Castiel (I know, I know - he's fictional but that jus' means I can write him how I like). I like lots of CastielxReader fics but so many I have trouble connecting with personally because I'm disabled and ... rotund? Rubenesque? Fatty-McFatfat? (Poor person diet and no ability to exercise). So I figured - instead of bemoaning how I couldn't relate to readers that are fit and healthy in their bodies - why not write my own where the reader ISN'T almost perfect in body or a badass hunter. There are plenty of those fics still around - and they're great - they really are - but being that I'm never going to be able to be a badass hunter in my own body - why not have a little variety in fic?

 

 

 

**A Little Protection Here and There**

**Prologue**

_**And so it begins...** _

 

No one asks to be cursed or hunted, or prey to some dark force beyond the wild imaginings. You certainly didn't and it wasn't exactly fun to discover you had been picked for such a dubious honour. Perhaps you had been picked as a target because you'd be easy to hunt? A weak prey for young whatever-evils to cut their teeth on before they went after more adventurous animals. Animals that could run away a great deal faster.

 

The only hunting you'd ever heard of before you met the brothers Winchester was the kind that involved deer, or foxes, or other woodland type creatures. Done for food or sport or just because a couple of guys wanted an excuse to wear camo, get drunk, and shoot guns as if it somehow made up for some... lacking. You hadn't heard of the idea of hunting ghosts, werewolves, vampires... not outside of fiction. After all - such things, demons, evil - they were all fiction surely? They couldn't possibly be real so there couldn't possibly be anyone who would be able to hunt them. You can't hunt shadows and expect to get anything more than a psych eval. It wasn't unreasonable of you to not believe them the first time they approached you, even after your weird experience by the shore. But when they came back after the second time? It was time to start being a little more open minded.

 

Living in a coastal town wasn't particularly easy when one had mobility problems. Crutches, wheelchair, walking stick, occasionally even a zimmer frame, depending on the day and how your pain level was - you used any one of them. Hell, in your own house you could even use your own two feet alone for short distances - but you needed to sit down a lot. Which of course meant that people thought you didn't really need any of them and were faking. You weren't. You could try and explain until your face was blue as the ocean (which unfortunately where you lived was actually more grey with small smatterings of green than blue) that 90% of people in wheelchairs weren't paralysed and could walk a little or a few steps at least. The people intent on not believing you wouldn't believe you even if the evidence smacked them in the face like a sea breeze. So you "soldiered on" as they say. Living your life as best you could. Doing what little work you could from home, trying to get some exercise every day to appease your doctors, even though it was tiring and sometimes you had to sleep for the next week and a half because you over did it. Somedays you could do the laundry, other days you couldn't leave your bed. This was your normal.

 

One thing assuredly out of your range of abilities was running. Booking it as fast as one can when one is faced with the unknown. Or, in your case, faced with a giant sea monster coming to shore that looked like a skinless centaur created by someone who was a little too attached to the monster designs in D&D. You could scream, you could attempt hiding, you could freeze in panic. Any of these options were open to you as you leant on your crutches on the walkway by the sea wall that protected the town somewhat from erosion. But running was not an option. It had four legs for crying out loud - even Usain Bolt would be out run by this monster if it really tried. So when three guys came running up to you and the tallest one told you to run - you sorta looked at them in vague panic.

 

"How!? How am I supposed to run?!?" you let your eyes widen slightly to drive home the point that the crutches you were leaning on were not actually props for decoration. The tallest of the men paused a little as he looked at you and let your appearance actually sink in. Once it had he looked pained and then moved toward you with the very obvious intent to pick you up. Your eyes widened at the very idea - it wasn't that you were so big you were about to be the star of one of those 'world's insert-descriptor-here person' shows - but you were certainly big enough to be a 'the biggest loser' contestant - much to your own chagrin. "Oh hell no! I'm not going to be responsible for you breaking your back trying to get me outta here! Run and save yourselves!"

 

"Sammy! Get her outta here!" the one with maybe the lightest hair of the bunch shouted. The sea monster, which up until now had just been taking it's time in completely forming, was now stepping forward with determination - it looked like it was sighting a target and two of the three men here were obviously attempting to get its attention off of you and onto them.

 

"Get yourselves out! For cryin' out loud! I don't know what that thing is but one person dead has sure as hell gotta be better than four!" When exactly your mouth had started working independently of your brain to the point where you were saying this sort of thing you didn't know. Too late to recant now however even if you were able to.

 

"Ma'am, please, we're professionals." the tall man apparently named Sammy said as he looked down at you with what could accurately be described as puppy dog eyes.

 

"Professional what!? Animal control officers!? Fishermen!? Because that doesn't look like any animal or sea creature! That looks like a nightmare!"

 

"We don't have time for this! Cas!" the lighter haired man called out and the shortest of the men, yet still stupidly tall as far as you were concerned, in a tan trenchcoat he somehow managed to make look amazing started to walk toward you with some speed and determination.

 

"[y/n], please - trust us... we have to get you out of here." The tallest man said as he spoke to you once again.

 

"Wait - how do you know my name?" you ask, your brows furrowed, it's then the smaller man is getting closer. "Oh no! If I'm not letting this guy carry me I'm sure as hell not letting you! I'd break your spine like a toothpick!"

 

"You are not that heavy." the smaller man said in a very matter of fact tone while he, making you feel petite for the first time in years, picked you up over his shoulder with surprising ease and started to run with you.

 

As you were carried away you saw the two taller men keeping the large skinless centaur thing at bay, they were coming toward it with fire but it quickly went back into the sea and disappeared completely as if it'd never been there. You were out of earshot but you could see the shorter man's body moving and it gave the distinct impression he was swearing enough to make a sailor blush. You blinked. What was going on? What in hell, heaven, and earth was going on!?

 

* * *

 

 

Sitting on the end of a bed in a room of a motel on the far edge of town, you stared at the three of them. You desperately wanted to lie back right now because your lower back was killing you but it would be bad manners after all they had just tried to tell you.

 

"I'm sorry - you're going to have to start from the top. I sort of stopped being able to concentrate after you said 'we hunt monsters'." You finally say, filling up the silence that had filled the room for a minute. You could see the man who had been identified as 'Dean' rolling his eyes a little as he stood from the chair he had taken and went over to lean against a wall.

 

"[y/n], we found out that you were... descended from a long line of witches." Sam began. "Witches that got into a feud with another family and were cursed. The other family broke a deal with a creature, a fairy, called a Nuckelavee. That... that creature you saw coming out of the sea. The curse was that your line would be hunted down... and wiped out. Now your family moved from Scotland and to areas in the US where they weren't by the ocean - as a way of stopping the Nuckelavee... but when you moved to be by the sea - being the very last of your line - well... it woke it back up."

 

You blinked. "A giant fuck off monster from  _Scotland_ has come all the way to Maine because my mother and I moved here from Colorado?" you were incredulous. Who wouldn't be? "And how in the hell was that  _a fairy_!? That was some straight up Lovecraft shit right there!"

 

"Quite possibly." the man, Castiel, said from his spot in the corner. He'd been silent for the majority of the conversation and you hadn't really heard him speak since he told you that you weren't that heavy before picking you up and carrying you here. Say whatever you like about the man with a voice so deep it made a fluttery feeling come to your lower stomach every time you heard it, the man had stamina. What he said, when he said anything, was almost always literal interpretations. But his eyes were kind and you valued honesty - especially at a time like this when the truth seemed so far fetched.

 

"Look, what about your mother? Where is she?" Sam asked and you swallowed hard as you looked straight into his eyes.

 

"Dead. Three years ago. Heart attack." you said softly, shaking her head. "It's just me now. No other family. Father disappeared when I was young."

 

Sam nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

 

"It's been three years. I've processed." You reply softly. "Look... if I hadn't seen that.... thing... for my own eyes, I wouldn't believe you at all - and even now - I'm skeptical since the eyes can have tricks played on them. Pretty much every stage magician out there has proved that point. But I don't buy some parts of your story. My mother wasn't a witch, neither were any of my grandparents. Hell - my maternal grandparents were Fundamentalist Christians. They wouldn't even have playing cards in the house because they thought they were too close to Tarot cards. They fasted every week! Those don't seem like the actions of witches, what with the whole Exodus thing..." she sighed. "And aren't witches like - evil? I mean - mostly? Or at you talking - like - the fluffy tree-hugger religion thing here?"

 

"Both can contain magical practitioners - but apparently your family were a mix of good and bad over the years," Sam replied. "The thing is - you're a natural for magic. It's like it's ... it's in your blood. And your blood draws out the Nuckelavee."

 

"So you're telling me - I have to move?" You sigh softly. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to move as a disabled person? How hard it is to set up disability benefits? Medicare? Doctors? Finding accessible housing? Are you joking!? It was a nightmare to get here! There are months where it still is a nightmare. And you're telling me I have to move?"

 

"No one mentioned moving. We intend to gank the son of a bitch." Dean replied from where he was. You put your head to one side and shake your head.

 

"Do you know how to kill it yet?"

 

"Uh... no."

 

"And do you have a plan for the meantime? I mean - was this just a heads up for me to be careful while you figure things out? I mean - is it going to start coming after me at home?"

 

"Probably," Castiel said again in the same blunt tones as before.

 

"We have a plan. We just want you to sit tight, and Castiel here is going to protect you." Sam replied as he looked at you. You blink slowly.

 

"Look - not that your friend isn't hella strong, he proved that, and ... definitely, has some stamina... how can he protect me from that... that thing - especially when you don't even know how to kill it?" You ask, then pause as you look at him. "No offence intended to you - you did save my life earlier and I am grateful."

 

The tan trenchcoated man inclined his head to you in acknowledgement and didn't look offended thankfully.

 

"He's an Angel of the Lord. He can protect you," Dean said bluntly.

 

You blinked slowly between the three of them and then let out a giant sigh. "Sure... of course... why not? Makes about as much sense as everything else so far. Alright - so - what? He comes home with me and guards or something?"

 

"Or something," Sam said and flushed. "We... we actually think it might be better if you're taken to our place. In Kansas. As far away from this thing as possible."

 

You stare at them. This was just beyond your general tolerance level and you blew out a breath. "Guys - give me a minute so I don't pass out on you?" you ask softly, looking down at your lap. How were you supposed to get to Kansas? Why would this one thing mean you'd have to go across statelines to avoid it? What weren't they telling you? It had to be something big because you could sense they weren't telling you something and as rattled as you were you didn't think you were up to your full observational skills yet.

 

"Yeah - sure. I'm going to get some air." Dean said, leaving the room. Sam gave an apologetic smile as he moved to go with his brother and discuss whatever it was they were going to discuss. Castiel remained silent in the corner, looking at you, but not moving nor saying anything.

 

After about fifteen minutes of complete silence you look over to Castiel. "So... you're all not telling me something."

 

"Yes."

 

"Something big?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Will I find out later if I go to Kansas with you?"

 

"Probably?"

 

"Will you keep me safe?" It was a question you didn't like to ask. You needed to ask it - you wanted to know you would be safe - but putting that kind of pressure on anyone was a bit much. Even if they were apparently an Angel of the Lord. Who oddly looked a bit like a door-to-door salesman. Most people - the only answer they could give is that they would try - that was all anyone could really ask for as an answer.

 

"I will."

 

His voice was the same as all the other times he'd spoken. His tone matter of fact. His answer blunt. He wasn't going to try. He was going to succeed. That was what he was telling you - he had set his mind to this task and would not be wavered. The fluttery feeling was back.

 

"Okay then." you blow out a breath and struggling a great deal stand up, lean on your crutches and hobble to the door before opening it to the two brothers. "Fine. We'll go with your plan, if of course, you think you can get this monster to come out of the sea once I'm several states away," you give them a pointed look but they seemed unconcerned so it was likely they had a plan on that score. "But once you're done here... I want you to tell me what you're not telling me now. All of it. I know there is something more to this than just that thing and a curse - so you had better tell me," you pause again. "Once I'm safe."

 

"Deal." Dean said, without even looking at Sam who just nodded.


	2. And That's What You Call Research?

**Chapter One**

_**And That's What You Call Research?** _

 

It appeared that the plan the boys had to draw out the Nuckelavee while you were in Kansas was to extract some of your blood into a vial to use as bait. The first time Dean started to approach you with a knife you almost beat him into a concussion with your crutches. Grumbling about the boys wanting to give you unnecessary injury and scarring you had managed to find a sterile syringe for drawing blood in your overzealously stocked first aid kit and coached Sam in how to draw blood from the veins in your hands. While you sat on your bed with a pillow on your leg to rest your arm on.

 

Drawing from the hand hurts more generally, but most of the veins in your arm seemed to either collapse or work like submarines and deliberately submerge the instant the word 'needle' was mentioned. The nurse who took blood samples at your local doctor's office was better at it than the ones at the nearest hospital and had declared that you shouldn't bother with the pain of attempting from the arm anymore but just take straight from your hand which is where you were going to end up at the end of the visit anyway.

 

Dean muttered and scowled about how long it took in comparison to his slash and drip method but you scowled right back at him until he backed down. This method was safer, cleaner, and would lead to getting more blood anyway without risking bleeding out or anything of that nature. It was your life they were disrupting after all - it wouldn't kill them to do this your way. Sam had been the one to point out to Dean that they weren't trying to prove you weren't a shapeshifter... whatever that meant.

 

Sam had put his jacket on a nearby chair and you idly looked at the ID wallet poking out of one of the pockets while he made sure the vial was full and that the cotton wool for the pinprick wound was clean. You opened it and then frowned at the fake FBI badge there with a familiar sounding name. You hadn't remembered that you'd sort of met the boys before the incident at the beach up until this point. Although you hadn't laid eyes on them you had shouted responses to their peculiar questions to be relayed by a friend who was helping you out when they'd come to your door earlier posing as FBI agents. You had considered the agents weird sounding based on the questions relayed to you and shrugged it off. Now you kind of wished you'd been able to answer your own door that day.

 

"Oh! So it was you guys who came to the door!" you said as Sam stuck the tape over the cotton wool and cleared everything up.

 

"Yeah. Not surprised you don't remember, given you didn't come to the door." Dean huffed.

 

"Well. I was stuck in bed in too much pain to get up at all, not even for the bathroom, without physical assistance, but if it's that important to you... you wanna swap bodies so I can answer the door?" you smile with saccharine sweetness at him. Dean visibly blanched at the idea and in the back of your head, you were laughing a bit. For all the hunter's irritability and biting remarks right now, you could tell it came from his caring on some level. Given you were a complete stranger that was somewhat sweet of him and pointed to a good man beneath the rough exterior. "Anyway, how did you guys know to come? I mean... I only saw that thing after you were in town. So what gives?" you ask as you stand up once more with a little help from Sam and finish packing a bag.

 

"Uh, We saw that there were some sightings from other people..." Sam admitted you frowned slightly, "and we decided to follow up."

 

"You....saw that there were sightings from other people... _where_?" you asked, something about the way the hunter said it made you think it was a little suspicious. The taller hunter was rubbing the back of his neck looking sheepish before finally, his brother brought out a few printed out pieces of paper. Upon the paper were pages printed from a cheap online tabloid that was filled full of easily debunked pictures of Bigfoot and alien Elvis. " _Seriously_!? This is what you had to go on? This counts as research to you?"

 

Sam gave you a pained puppy dog look it looked like he was starting to really feel strained from the conversation but you were a little too curious for your own good and couldn't stop asking questions. "We've looked into less," he said as if he'd repeated this epithet before.

 

"Really? Less? How _much_ less exactly? What is the _least_ amount of credible information you have needed to investigate something?" you asked, unable to help yourself from asking. After all, the extremely blurred picture of the Nuckelavee forming among the waves making landfall against the beach looked easily photoshopped. "And if multiple people sighted it - then maybe it isn't even after me after all? Maybe you made a mistake?" there was a small amount of hope in your voice which died a most torturous death merely from looking at the expression on the brothers' faces.

 

"No. The sightings helped us find that it was a thing, but we did other research. The sightings... they were always when you had been around the sea recently, it's just that you hadn't taken as long as you did this morning to walk by to be able to see it for yourself." Sam admitted. "The fact that you were the only person every single witness could remember seeing as being out at the time of the different sightings is what prompted us to look into your family history." It seemed the tallest of the three men now in your life was always the one left explaining all the details.

 

"That and your mother's death," Castiel said with an innocently blunt lack of tact from where he was standing by a chest of drawers in your room looking through some of the notes and sketches there left on the top.

 

" _What?_ No... That makes no sense, she died of a heart attack. Not from... that thing... which I'm pretty sure would have been noted in the morgue report -or something out of the ordinary. And if you'd already known she was dead then why did you ask me where she was in the motel?" you were incredulous at the very idea.

 

The three men shifted a bit, two of them uncomfortable, the third - being Castiel - just mildly looking at one of your art supply boxes with what seemed to be detached interest. He apparently hadn't noticed the looks being shot his way by the other people in the room - or else was completely unphased by them.

 

" _Riiight_..." Dean said in an exaggerated tone. "Look, all that's important is that you've seen it now and need to get to safety so we can do our job."

 

"Do you always put people you're trying to save in protective custody like this?" you asked.

 

"No," Castiel said flatly before the others had a chance to answer still not looking at anyone else. You ended up going up to him and rescuing one of your current notebooks from his hands.

 

"Castiel. It's considered rude among humans to touch each other's things without permission and look through them," he flashed you an almost defensive look as if to say that he both knew that and didn't see why it applied to him. "Why don't you go downstairs and help yourself to a drink or snack? You've got my permission to do that," you told him softly but firmly.

 

"I don't require food or drink." He replied.

 

"Fair enough. Castiel. There are some snacks downstairs I wouldn't mind having on the road, in the left-hand cupboard by the sink. Please, could you put them in a bag for me? You'll find a whole pile of them tucked down the side of my refrigerator." your voice remained soft but firm. It seemed the best way to stop him poking around your things was to give him a job to do. Castiel nodded to you once and left to go downstairs.

 

"You guys really need to get going," Dean said betraying some of his impatience. Which seemed rather unfair since you'd agreed to allow the boys to stay in your house while you were gone and they were here so that they didn't have to keep paying for a motel room.

 

"You have clothes in Kansas in my size? My specific medications? Mobility aids? By the by, how accessible is this bunker of yours?" you ask.

 

Dean opens his mouth while somehow simultaneously frowning, having obviously not thought about it much. Sam shifts his gaze and refuses to look in your direction.

 

" _Fantastic_ ," you say dryly and zip up your bag. You take your crutches and a walking stick but have the distinct impression that you aren't going to be afforded the relative freedom of your wheelchair where you're going. Looks like only short, painful, distances by walking for you.

 

You use a stairlift to get downstairs rather than force yourself to walk down them and risk falling and hurting yourself more than usual. Sometimes you attempt to walk up and down the stairs using the walls for balance in an attempt to exercise and appease your doctors. These attempts were usually followed by at least 3 hours sat or lying still panting and cursing your body under your breath.

 

Castiel had seemed to find everything alright and was standing by the door with three plastic bags in his hands containing various snacks, and thoughtfully of him, some drinks. You looked around your home for a few moments wondering how long it would be before you saw this place again... and if you were going to be able to get prescription requests filled properly in Lebanon, Kansas. Internally you shuddered once more at the 30-hour drive ahead of you. It's not even like you could take over for Castiel - since you couldn't drive. How tired was Castiel going to get? How many times would they have to stop? Did he know the motels along the route they were taking?

 

Once you stepped out of your door, leaning on crutches and feeling very tired, however, all those thoughts left your head while you looked at the car you were going to be riding in. You didn't know much about cars so it's not like you can recognise the year of the Lincoln Continental you're staring at - it's dirty beige colour probably called something complimentary by the car manufacturer - like gold or something. You can, with some chagrin, however, recognise that this is going to be uncomfortable to get in and out of for you and probably not the best ride out there when it came to how badly your body sometimes responded to prolonged jarring and vibrations from travel. Closing your eyes for a moment you take a deep breath and try to look on the bright side.

 

It at least looked better than the Nuckelavee had.

 

Castiel moved forward and opened the door for you - you nodded your thanks to him and struggled, making sure you sat sideways on to the seat before slowly sliding yourself the rest of the way onto the front passenger seat. Castiel closed the door after you and then spoke quietly with Dean for a few moments in voices too low for you to hear. A few minutes later Castiel sat in the car beside you and started it up. The initial jarring from the hydraulics of the lowrider caused you to gasp in pain before the angel shot you an apologetic look and moved off, driving as carefully as he could.

 

* * *

 

 

You slept through at least 4 hours of the journey while Castiel drove, he seemed to be incapable of fatigue and you started to wonder if their story of this man being an angel was true. You stared at him quietly for a long time, ignoring the weird fluttery feelings in your stomach as you did. Head slightly cocked to the side you let your tired eyes relax as you stared at him. You're positive it was your imagination when you felt like you could almost see wings coming out of him. You had no idea there were so many different shades of the colours blue, purple and black. With gold and silver like patterns not completely unlike the patterns on a Northern flicker. The plumage would put a male peacock to shame yet the more you looked - the more damaged they looked. You chuckled to yourself a little as you looked at them.

 

"More shades than a blue-banded purple wing...." you whispered referencing a particular butterfly and shook your head letting the image fade from your mind and missing the look from Castiel in your direction. "How are you holding up?" you asked as you stretched and bit your lip to avoid giving out a pained whimper.

 

"I am fine. I do not require sleep." Castiel replied in the same matter of fact tone he always used.

 

"Where do angels learn to drive anyway? Like - are you raised on Earth but with extra power or something?"

 

"No," Castiel replied, then as the silence stretched he appeared to realise that more explanation might be wanted. "I learned to drive after all the angels were cast out of heaven by Metatron and we lost the ability to fly. Or.. teleport as Dean and Sam call it."

 

You stared at him and blinked slowly. "Well... that's... uh.... hey wasn't Metatron like some archangel? The Recording Angel - Chancellor of Heaven?" you asked, confused. Being raised among a family that had some fundamentalists among their number you knew some biblical lore. Metatron didn't really feature anywhere but in a few passing references in the Talmud and Jewish Apocrypha. "Like - the name given to Enoch father of Methuselah when he was raised by God to heaven to be an angel?"

 

Castiel stared at you as if you were speaking in a foreign language all of a sudden. "N..no. Metatron wasn't an archangel or Chancellor of Heaven. And he was never human." he replied, the stumbling of his words making the fluttering feeling all the stronger. You felt your cheeks flush and sat up a little straighter.

 

"Oh - well - okay," you replied softly. Just how much had religious works gotten wrong?

 

"I... didn't know you were a scholar of Biblical lore [y/n]," Castiel said after about fifteen minutes of quiet while you found a snack bag and munched as quietly as possible.

 

"Oh - Uh - I'm not, like - I used to attend Sunday school and read to my gran for her bible study class after her glaucoma got worse. But most of what I know is from falling down the Wikipedia hole," you admitted.

 

"Wikipedia hole?" the angel's deep timbre asked in clear confusion, snaking down your spine in a way that you were definitely not going to dwell on.

 

"Oh - yeah - you read a page on Wikipedia, click on a link to a page which Wikipedia says is a related article on the first page, and then another, and do the Wikipedia walk until it's suddenly six days later and you've learned some surface knowledge of about 27 different topics all of which you have no idea how you got there and appear to have absolutely nothing in common with the first page you looked at," you reply and give a self-effacing grin. After all - this is a very relatable human habit since the information age became so wide-spread.

 

Castiel nodded slowly. "I...think I understand," he said. "Why would you call it falling down a hole though? I suppose it could be a hole if you have difficulty stopping - but why would humans have a hard time stopping themselves from clicking the links? Is it that humans have so low an attention span they get distracted easily or is it that humans have too much of an attention span that they can't stop themselves from trying to learn more?"

 

Smiling you take out your smart phone and open up the web browser app. "Here - we'll do an example - let's start by seeing if Wikipedia has a page on that thing that was stalking me. How do you spell Nuckelavee?" you ask curiously. Castiel patiently spelt it out for you and you tapped the name into the web search bar. You paused as the results came in and grunted. "Huh - someone did actually use it for a DnD monster after all. How fitting," you muttered then smiled as you clicked the Wikipedia page and began to summarize some of it. So let's say we click about Orcadian myth... this leads us to a page on the Orkney islands - then we can maybe from here click a link to say Old Norse, which in turn has a link to a page on the Gray Goose Laws. From there we can click the link leading to an article on the man Ari Thorgilsson who is mentioned. Which leads to his book  _Íslendingabók_." You smiled at him. "See? It's not that far removed from, but at the same time feels very distant, from where we started on an Orkney monster fairy. So - little column a, little column b when it comes to the attention span thing."

 

Castiel nodded. "Yes - I see - I believe I am familiar with the phenomenon but didn't know it had a name."

 

"Oh - doing a Wiki walk? There's even a game... but I never play it. I try to stop myself from opening a huge string of tabs by making myself close the app after a certain number of pages. At least - after I'd lost a few nights sleep over a couple of months to it all." you smile at him and settle down, yawning once more.

 

"You should get more rest," Castiel states, back into his more comfortable demeanour of confidence. "It's still a long way to Lebanon and you only got a small amount of sleep."

 

"Yeah - you're probably right." you murmur quietly after another yawn. Like it or not - losing the majority of the day to napping to make up for the constant pain and fatigue was a fact of your life and it didn't even occur to you anymore that life could or should be different. This was your normal and there was nothing wrong with that. "Wake me up whenever..." you sleepily mutter, eyes already closing again, another brief glimpse of Castiel's obviously imagined wings - he was as Sam had explained earlier in a human vessel after all - there's no way you could actually see angel wings.

 

"Rest [y/n]." Castiel's deep voice softly lulls your brain once more to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As point of reference for the travel time and so on mentioned in this chapter I've set it so that the Reader is a resident of a town roughly in the close vicinity Roque Bluffs, ME - being that this is a completely fictional story and I have never been to the United States I request some level of leniency for incorrect facts.
> 
> Minor edits have been made to this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Please like and comment - I live off feedback and it helps me become a better writer - which...is surely preferable for the readers!


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